


When We Get There

by lipah



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Mostly just fluffy silliness, Romantic Comedy vibes, Scott is a Good Friend, Slight Misuderstandings, Stiles is too hard on himself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-22 15:55:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11970687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lipah/pseuds/lipah
Summary: Stiles lives in a rundown apartment building in New York and is pining after the new building manager, but more importantly, he can't stop his damn smoke detector from going off.





	When We Get There

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write, didn't know what to write, so I asked my friends and toast was the thing that came up. (Well, and some talk of old memes to see if I could date myself with them) so enjoy this story inspired by the word toast.

The smoke alarm went off about three seconds after Stiles had seen _actual_ _smoke_ fucking _pouring_ from his kitchen. "No! Shit! Do not be on fire!" Stiles shouted as he flailed out of his seat. He tossed his computer onto the couch next to where he had been sitting a second ago and raced across the living room. He stumbled over an empty cardboard box--why the fuck was that even there?!--but managed to turn sharply into the kitchen, smacking and silencing the smoke detector as he rounded the corner. Stiles had assumed that there would be smoke, some toast that he couldn't eat, and the awful smell of burnt would linger for a few hours. He hadn't assumed that there would really be a fire, but there it was, on his counter seeping out of his toaster like a _Lovecraftian_ nightmare. He grabbed the fire extinguisher off the other counter, yanked the pin free, pointed it at the fire and tightened his hand around the handle. There was a puff and then nothing. "Nonononono," Stiles shouted, twisting the extinguisher in his hands enough to see that pressure gauge was too low.

 

"Come on! Can't one thing go right?" he shouted. He dropped the extinguisher, and because he was panicking, grabbed the carpet from in front of the sink, and smothered the shit out of the toaster. He ripped the plug out of the wall once he was sure the fire was out and tossed the rug to the ground by the front door. He leant back against the other counter of the galley kitchen panting and staring up at the water marked ceiling. It was fine, really it was fine, the rug had been here when he moved into the apartment. It was probably, definitely super gross anyway. And what inanimate object didn't want a noble death by fire while saving a 26-year-olds life? The rug was his saviour, and the toaster was clearly some kind of demon. The thing always set off the stupid smoke detector, also a demon, Stiles decided. He was just glad that the apartment he lived in didn't evacuate every time someone burnt some toast. He had snagged the toaster from that weird free stuff corner in the laundry room, so he should have really known this was going to happen. Normally the only things left there were years out of date, but his apartment currently had a decidedly impoverished old lady vibe to it. So, a clearly ancient toaster, that was apparently cursed, had made sense at the time.

 

Even though Stiles heart was still doing the Mamushka against his ribs, and had just reached the bit with the knives and the spark, he turned his attention back to the toaster. He could see that the stupid lever on the side had gotten stuck, keeping the toaster turned on after the timer had told it to pop. It was really his own fault; he had just told Scott the other day, that the toaster would be the death of him. Maybe if he hadn't mentioned anything, it wouldn't have killed itself while trying to take him out. He left the thing on its side on the counter and trudged back to the living room. His laptop was lying upside down, the screen was bent all the way back, and it was only by some miracle that the already cracked hinge on the left side of the screen didn't completely break. The line of code he had been working on prior to the smoke and panic, had a few weird letters thrown into it now, but it was saved and that was fine. Stiles managed a few more lines of code--code that was needed for a job interview, not work for a job he actually had--when there was pounding at his door.

 

"Come on..." Stiles mumbled, setting his laptop aside carefully this time. He made his way to the front door and peered out through the peephole. Honestly, he wasn't surprised to see tall, dark and grumpy on the other side of his door. Derek was the new building manager and sudden star of Stiles' wet dreams. The man was glorious, just slightly taller than Stiles with broad shoulders and an ass that was worthy of worship. God, Stiles wanted to worship his ass, just get on his hands and knees, and--Derek pounded against the door again, and Stiles whole body flushed. Right, Derek was here, at the door, needing something. Stiles unlatched the chain, unbolted the door, and yanked it open. "Derek!" he said, trying for pleased and comfortable, instead of horny and caught thinking about it.

 

"Mrs Roberts just called the office, said your smoke detector was going off again?" Derek said. He crossed his arms over his chest making the sleeves of his shirt bunch around his biceps and pushing his pecs together like a waitress desperate for tips. Stiles watched the stretch of the fabric, before he realised he had been silent for too long, and snapped his attention back to Derek's face. It didn't help.

 

"You have your judgey eyebrows on," Stiles said, pointing at Derek's face. Holy shit, he really just said that. He wanted to turn and slam his head against the wall until he forgot, but decided that wouldn't help anything.

 

"My what?" Derek asked, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. Goddammit, Stiles wanted to lick his face.

 

"When you show up here and your eyebrows are all scrunched up. Judgey eyebrows," Stiles explained, because fuck it, he was already clearly an idiot. This was a go big or go home situations, and Stiles was already home. "Anyway, my smoke detector did go off, but it's nothing to worry about!" Stiles was glad that Derek couldn't see past him and into the kitchen, where the burnt remains of the toaster still lay sprawled out on the counter like a murder victim. Derek could, however, see the burnt rug lying a few inches behind Stiles' feet.

 

"Nothing to worry about?" he asked, nodding at the rug.

 

"A small mishap with a possessed kitchen appliance is all, but I've dealt with it," Stiles said. Derek ran his hand over his mouth, looking momentarily frustrated and baffled.

 

"Okay... just, be more careful?" Derek said.

 

"Will do, buddy," he answered and saluted Derek. Stiles closed and locked the door quickly after that. He slid the chain into place last and then turned to look down at the burnt rug. The rug deserved a good burial, Stiles thought staring at the thing for a minute. Then, he stuffed the rug into a garbage bag and tied it closed. He'd have to find time to drive the toaster to a recycling centre, but he'd probably be able to do it after some work shift. The rug, he'd take out tomorrow morning, for now, he needed to finish this assignment from his last job interview. It was hard not to be frustrated, when he got interviews all the time, was always sent home with _homework,_ and never got a callback. Stupid companies exploiting starving university graduates for free work. Maybe that's how they did it, just found problems in their systems and then advertised jobs for Network Manager or Software Developer, handing out the problem to a bunch of desperate saps to fix for free.

 

Stiles returned to his seat on the couch and stared at his laptop screen, the code staring mockingly back at him. God, he was a desperate sap.

 

*** 

 

Over the next month, his electronics and appliances slowly gave up the ghost. First, it was his microwave, which was part way through heating up the last hot pocket and bit of food in the apartment. The light bulb exploded from some kind of power surge as the whole thing fried. It also destroyed his hot pocket. When he opened the door, smoke came spilling from the inside of the thing. Derek showed up at his door 20 minutes later, looking extra stubbly and unimpressed. Stiles had assured Derek everything was fine and sent him on his way. Stiles went to bed for dinner that night, after drinking two litres of water and pretending that was good enough.

 

The next was his TV; it blinked off halfway through a rewatch of Stranger Things and then only made a strange fizzling sound for a second if he tried to turn it on. He fought with it for an hour, before smoke started leaking out of the casing of the TV. He had unplugged the thing, opened all the windows in his apartment, except one that was stuck, and set the TV by the door. The smoke detector had gone off anyway. It only took Derek four minutes to show up that time, looking past Stiles to the growing pile of electronics by his doorway. Stiles just smiled at him, told him--once again--things were fine, and Derek left.

 

Finally, it was his coffee maker, which gurgled to a stop and started sending out panicked plumes of smoke. Stiles unplugged it, knocked it into the sink, and doused it with water. His smoke detector still went off. A high-pitched scream, that shouted _'this asshole can't do anything right! Come look at this asshole!'_  Stiles stepped around the corner and silenced the detector, Derek would be there soon. He always showed up when it went off, no matter what, Stiles was pretty sure Mrs Roberts just liked hearing Derek's voice, and Stiles really couldn't blame her. He dropped the coffee maker into the box that his other possessions sat in and sighed. He had a moment of silence where he glanced through the opening into the kitchen and eyed his oven warily, only to be interrupted when Derek knocked on his door. Even though he knew it was coming, it still made him jump, and grumble at himself.

 

"Mornin', Derek," Stiles said as he pulled the door open.

 

"Smoke detector," Derek said raising an eyebrow at him. Stiles was pretty sure he had seen Derek constantly over the last month, but at some point, the other man had managed to grow a beard. Holy fuck it was a good look for him. Stiles still wanted to lick his face. 

 

"No need to worry, I've taken care of it again," Stiles said.

 

"No one else has this much trouble with the detector in their suite," Derek told him.

 

"What about," Stiles snapped his fingers a few times, trying to remember the name of the family that lived on the third floor. "Oh, the Mijovic's! They've gotta be worse, their daughter is literally always setting it off when she cooks."

 

"Maybe once every few months and only when she makes bacon," Derek answered. Stiles pursed his lips and pulled his eyebrows together.  "You set it off once a week."

 

"How do you even remember that?"

 

"Because I'm here, almost once a week," Derek answered, sounding a little angrier than he normally did.

 

"Okay, but come on! How was I supposed to know that my toaster catching fire would start a chain reaction of death?"

 

"Your toaster caught fire?" Derek asked sharply, and Stiles' face went red.

 

"Well, yeah... I got it from the free area in the laundry room. Not my smartest moment, but, you know..." Stiles said and gestured at the box with the toaster, coffee maker, and microwave. His TV next to the box, tilted at an odd angle where it leant against the wall.

 

"You broke all that?" Derek asked.

 

"Hey, come on, it's just old is all," Stiles said. Derek seemed to soften a little at this and then nodded his head at Stiles.

 

"I have to take some old computers from the office to be recycled, I could take your stuff too, if you'd like," Derek offered.

 

"No, that's fine. I might look completely pathetic, but I can, in fact, lift things over 20 pounds," Stiles said.

 

"I don't think you're pathet--" Derek started, but Stiles just waved him off.

 

"Really, man, I can totally manage it," Stiles said.

 

"If you're sure," Derek said, taking a small step back. He hesitated for a second and then said, "Since I'm going anyway... I could drive and you could come too? Do your own heavy lifting without wasting the gas." Part of Stiles wanted to say no again because being stuck in a vehicle with Derek would kill him. It would completely and totally be the end of his life. He would end up embarrassing himself and it would just be--

 

"That sounds great," Stiles said and goddammit traitor of a brain. Derek smiled at him then, and suddenly all Stiles could think about was a white picket fence, 2.5 kids, and a dog unironically named Spot.

 

"Let me know when you're not busy, I can make almost anytime work," Derek said.

 

"I'm free this afternoon," Stiles blurted out and felt the blush rush across his face.

 

"That's good. I'll let Peter know, so he's actually in the office when I leave," Derek said. "Come grab me whenever you're ready." Stiles' raised his eyebrows a little and let out an awkward terrible laugh, and then nodded his head. He knew that if he opened his mouth he would end up saying something else that was incredibly stupid. Derek waved his goodbye and headed to the elevators. Stiles watched him until he was gone, then slammed his front door and proceeded to freak the fuck out. He managed to find his phone, on top of the refrigerator for some reason and called Scott.

 

"Holy fuck dude, I fucked up!" Stiles shouted as soon as the line connected.

 

"What'd you do?" Scott asked, sounding a little too bored for Stiles liking.

 

"Derek offered to drive me to the electronics recycling place and I agreed!" Stiles said. Scott was silent on the other end of the phone.

 

"Okay... I think... I think I've missed something here," Scott said slowly.

 

"He's grown a beard!" Stiles added like Scott couldn't already tell how frantic he was.

 

"What do you want me to do here?" Scott asked. "Like, are you looking for sympathy, advice, or for me to just agree with whatever you're saying?" Scott used that line a lot, and over all, Stiles liked having the options, but not at the moment.

 

"Oh my god now is not the time for this question," Stiles said.

 

"I don't know what to say, man. You've been talking about him for ages; you said you wanted to get to know him. Why not, just get to know him?"

 

"No Scott. I didn't want to get to know him! He's a million light years out of my league! He's got these eyes and--and this face! And holy shit, now this beard. I wanted to see him in passing and then objectify him in the privacy of my own bed!" Stiles snapped, suddenly a little scared that Derek had come back into the hallway for some reason.

 

"Look, just... just hang out with him, maybe he likes you back? He is always showing up at your apartment," Scott said.

 

"Because I keep starting fires!" Stiles shouted.

 

"How many fires have you started?" Scott asked.

 

"Ugh, just one really. But, the stupid smoke detector keeps going off and he keeps showing up because my neighbour keeps tattling on me because I can't cook apparently," Stiles said.

 

"So, how did this lead to electronics recycling together?" Scott asked.

 

"Everything I own is breaking: toaster, microwave, coffee maker, and TV. I'm expecting my laptop to go next, maybe my phone, who knows," Stiles answered.

 

"Okay... so... I'm still not totally clear why this is a bad thing," Scott said.

 

"I'm gonna screw it up, Scott! What if I insult him? Or his family? Holy shit, you're like the only person in the world who can stand me, and I'm still not totally sure I haven't Stockholmed you into this friendship somehow," Stiles rambled. "Maybe it's because I got to you so young, somehow made us weirdly co-dependent. Like, without this friendship we will never be able--"

 

"Dude," Scott said firmly. "First off, we are not weirdly co-dependent... anymore. Look, you moved to New York without any issues, I've gotten married, we have different lives. We don't even talk to each other every day anymore! Second, it's really just the rambling and ADHD thought jumping that takes some time. You just think fast is all, if he can't keep up, then he's not worth it anyway. Three, you have plenty of friends. Erica would kill you if she heard that you don't think she's your friend. I'm not above telling on you to the friend group." Stiles heard a notification go off on his phone, and he was sure that Scott had just texted their friend group exactly that.

 

"He's so hot," Stiles said, instead of worrying about his friends.

 

"Well, make a move, dude. The worst he can say is no," Scott said like it was really that easy.

 

"He could evict me," Stiles said.

 

"Doesn't the building owner want to bone you? If Derek tries to kick you out because you have a crush on him, just blow the owner until he lets you stay," Scott answered and Stiles laughed.

 

"I'd rather be homeless," Stiles said which might have actually been true. 

 

"There's really nothing I can do about this one," Scott said, his voice taking on a worried but caring tone. "Just... just be yourself. Well, maybe a little less of an asshole." Stiles laughed again and deflated a little. The panic was still humming through him, but now it was a little quieter.

 

"It's just because of everything with James..." Stiles said, much softer this time. Scott took in a quick breath and then sighed softly. Stiles realised, that this was probably the first time he'd said his ex's name since he broke up with him. His friends still referred to the guy as 'ass hat' or 'he who doesn't deserve a name'. Stiles appreciated that. Stiles had met him at a club his first weekend in New York, they'd hit it off, and were dating soon afterwards. James had been great, all the things Stiles had thought he'd been looking for. He was attractive, with a wicked grin and was just miles ahead of Stiles. He'd even helped Stiles get a programming job at the company he worked for.

 

It had been amazing... for about seven months. After that, James was possessive, with a quick temper, and biting insults. Not that those insults weren't true, Stiles was a hyperactive, scrawny, nerd with a habit of talking too much, but there was no need to spit the words so hatefully at him. Stiles had finally broken up with him, just after their one year anniversary. James had decided that they should be in a polyamorous relationship with a guy from scheduling, without consulting Stiles on that decision. Stiles wasn't one to mock or deny anyone of what they were into, but without getting consent from Stiles, James had just been cheating on him. Stiles was still a little mad at himself for letting it get that far. For letting James literally knock him around, just because the guy was a little out of his league in the looks department. After Stiles left him, he'd been fired for a vague reason, had to find a job back in retail, and been forced to move into the cheapest place he could find. So, that's where Stiles was now, a year later.

 

"He was a man child," Scott said, which was really something coming from Scott. "Do you think Derek is that kind of guy?" Stiles frowned at the question; he hadn't thought James was that kind of guy.

 

"I don't know," Stiles said.

 

"Then get to know him," Scott repeated more firmly. So, four hours later, Stiles found himself standing outside the office door waiting for Derek to finish something up.

 

"Hello Stiles," Peter said as he came sauntering up to the office. Peter owned the apartment building and seemed generally more interested in harassing tenants than actually caring for the place.

 

"Peter," Stiles said, nodding his head at him.

 

"I hear you and Derek are going out," Peter said, grinning.

 

"Peter!" Derek snapped from inside the office.

 

"Oh come now, I'm just chatting," Peter answered.

 

"We're just going to recycle some old electronics," Stiles said.

 

"I've been asking Derek to do that for weeks," Peter said, shaking his head a little. "And now for some reason, he's all excited about it." Derek was out of the office a second later, glowering at his boss with apparently no fear of losing his job.

 

"I'll finish the new parking assignments when I get back," Derek said.

 

"Oh, no need to worry, I'll have it done long before then," Peter said, waving his hand dismissively at the two of them. "Just go have some fun."

 

"Don't touch it, Peter," Derek said sternly. Stiles shuffled away from the two of them, grabbing his box of broken electronics, from where he had set it when he came downstairs. The TV was set against the wall behind it, but he'd figure that out in a few minutes.

 

"Fine, if you think it's better, I won't," Peter said, sounding fairly put out by the request for him to not work.

 

"Call Mrs Kennedy, she'd love to keep you company," Derek said as he turned toward Stiles. "My truck is the one in the loading zone."

 

"Cool, I'll just go dump these there," Stiles said, pushing out the front doors and hurrying down the path to the truck. It was an older truck but it seemed well cared for. In the back were two computer monitors that were at least 15 years old, and three towers on their sides. There were a few old modems, a stack of floppy discs, a box with some really old SCSI drives... and zip drives? Who the hell still had zip drives? Stiles set his box into the truck bed, and when he turned around Derek was carrying his TV toward them. "Hey, I said I'd do that," Stiles said, but Derek just nudged past him and set the TV down.

 

"Needed to get away from Peter, seemed like a good excuse," Derek said, closing the back of the bed. Stiles glanced back at the front doors and frowned when he saw Peter watching them and grinning.

 

"Makes sense to me," Stiles answered and hurried into the passenger side of the truck. He waited for Derek to start the truck before he said. "God Peter is creepy." He glanced out the back window of Derek's truck as they pulled away.

 

"What?" Derek asked. Peter had come out of the building and was standing on the sidewalk now. He lifted one hand and waved at him.

 

"He's still watching! Why is he looking at us like that?"

 

"He's not that creepy," Derek said slowly. Stiles spun around so he was facing forward again.

 

"He's a creepy man, Derek. He asked me to dinner the day I moved in, which in and of itself is not creepy, but he licked his lips and winked after he asked. Like, I'm going to take you to my sex dungeon and strap you to the wall, creepy. Also, he touched my butt on the elevator once too." Derek choked on, apparently, the breath he had just taken. "And not like accidental, either. Just took a whole handful of Stiles' cheek in his hand and groped. I flailed so hard I slapped Mrs Cooney in the face. I slapped a little old lady, Derek. He is a creepy man," Stiles ranted. Derek coughed a few times, trying to clear his throat and then he glanced over at Stiles.

 

"He's... he's my uncle," Derek said, scratching at the side of his face.

 

"Oh my god," Stiles answered, sinking down in his seat. "Pretend I didn't say anything. Just... just stop the truck, I'll get out here. Or, you know what, just slow down a little, I can tuck and roll. It'll be fine. Really." Derek did not, in fact, slow down the truck, but he did get very quiet for a few minutes.

 

"I'm sorry," he said finally.

 

"What?"

 

"For Peter... I know... I know he can be a handful. It's part of the reason I'm here at all. I didn't realise he had gotten that bad..." Derek mumbled. "You should report him, I don't think he'd get arrested or anything, but he's sexually harassing you at least, and has sexual assaul--"

 

"Woah, woah, woah! Derek chill! I'm not going to try and get him arrested," Stiles said.

 

"Might scare him a little," Derek offered.

 

"I'd rather have a place to live, honestly," Stiles answered. They lapsed into silence for a few more minutes, and then Stiles said. "Moved here to take care of him?"

 

"Kind of," Derek answered. "I'm... I'm taking a break from my actual job, and I offered to help Peter clean the place up. It's in a great location, but he's let it become... well." Derek trailed off, sounding a little guilty that he was talking about the apartment that way.

 

"It's a shithole, dude," Stiles said. "I mean that in the nicest way. It's my favourite shithole. But, the people right next door to me are definitely drug dealers, and the people across from me might have some kind of ties to the Russian mob." Derek laughed a little and nodded his head.

 

"It is a shithole" Derek agreed.

 

"So how much is rent going up, after you've finished sprucing up the building?" Stiles asked.

 

"It won't," Derek answered. "Peter's a pain in the ass, but he isn't really a bad person."

 

"That's good because my place already looks like an elderly hobo furnished it and a rent hike would not help with that," Stiles said.

 

"An elderly hobo?" Derek asked one of his eyebrows rising as he said it.

 

"Yeah, dude. Couch and chair are a floral pattern; both my lamps--which is pretty much the only lighting in the place--are that weird gold colour and one of them has a salmon pink lampshade. The other one doesn't have a shade at all," Stiles explained. "I'm not picking shit out of the free stuff area because I think it'll be an adventure."

 

"Ah... um, sorry?" Derek said. He glanced over at Stiles, but Stiles just laughed at him and shook his head.

 

"Nah, it's fine. If it was a big deal I wouldn't have shared," Stiles said. "Sometimes life gives you lemons--well that's not really true, lemons were like crossbred into existence. So really humans gave us lemons and this saying makes no sense. It should be, like... sometimes life gives your puberty and you just gotta become an adult? I dunno, I'm no good at this. I'll stick with the lemons saying. Sometimes life gives you lemons and you gotta work your ass off to afford the sugar and water to make your lemonade. You know?"

 

"I'm not totally sure I'm following you," Derek said. "But, I'm sure you're right." Stiles laughed again and grinned at Derek.

 

"Thank you for that at least," Stiles said. "I'm hard to follow; my brother says it gets easier the more time you spend with me, but man I dunno if that's true."

 

"I'll let you know," Derek said softly, as he pulled into the recycling depot parking lot. Stiles' heart slammed against his ribs, and he just nodded his head a little awkwardly.

 

"Okay," Stiles said.

 

They managed to get the computers and appliances dropped off without issues. Stiles had also managed to keep from saying anything else too stupid. At least, he managed to keep from insulting Derek's family again; he'd definitely said some stupid shit, but Derek didn't seem to mind it yet. He knew that some people found the rambling charming for a while, but then it became tiring, and they moved on. The whole thing only took about ten minutes before they were back in the truck and driving home again. "So, back to the office with Peter?" Stiles asked.

 

"He'll leave as soon as I get there," Derek said.

 

"That has to be the preferable option," Stiles said.

 

"It is," Derek agreed, and then very suddenly he blurted out. "Do you want to go and get something to eat? Before we head back, I mean."

 

"Oh, I dunno dude... I'm a little tight on cash at the moment--"

 

"On me," Derek said, glancing from the road to Stiles and then back.

 

"You've already saved me some gas," Stiles said, trying to ignore the way his heart was pounding against his ribs.

 

"I'd... I'd like the company," Derek said. Stiles felt his whole face burn red and he turned to look out the window away from Derek.

 

"Uhh, yeah. Sure, that's... if you're totally sure," Stiles said. Was this a date? Had this become a date?

 

"I haven't been in town too long, so I don't really know anyone around. My sisters are always telling me I need to make friends," Derek said after an awkward few seconds of silence. Stiles' stomach twisted angrily on the word friends, and he frowned at his reflection in the window.

 

"Oh," Stiles mumbled and then realised that Derek could probably hear the disappointment in his voice and added. "I might not be great company, but I am company. And food is always great." Derek pulled into a parking lot, the place wasn't fancy, but Stiles could tell from looking at it that they would serve curly fries. The inside was nice enough, looking like an old diner with its red and white counters and neon signs. A woman dressed in a stereotypical blue and white dress pointed them over to one of the booths by the window. The menus were tucked in a metal condiment holder, so Stiles grabbed two and handed one of them to Derek. "You don't seem like a greasy spoon kind of guy," Stiles said.

 

"It's a nice treat," Derek answered and Stiles laughed. He looked down at the menu and grinned widely when he spotted curly fries as an option for a side.

 

"If I wasn't so broke, I'd treat myself all the time," Stiles said. The waitress came over and took their orders, both having settled on bacon cheese burgers with fries on the side. Stiles ordered curly fries and Derek ordered waffle fries, the heathen. She brought the both glasses of water to drink, and Stiles decided that he was already costing too much for Derek, so water was good.

 

"Not trying to be nosey," Derek said after the waitress was gone. "But... aren't you a programmer?"

 

"What?" Stiles asked and Derek looked embarrassed.

 

"I was digitizing the application forms in the office, and you'd listed your job," Derek answered.

 

"Oh, well, not anymore. Or, not at the moment. That job and I didn't work out, so currently I work at a t-shirt kiosk in the mall down the road," Stiles answered. "But, I was still working there when I took this place. Uhm, should I update that with you guys?"

 

"No, it's really not our business once you've been approved," Derek said.

 

"So, do you just go around remembering everyone one's jobs or am I special?" Stiles asked and Derek looked even more embarrassed.

 

"I did remember yours because I've seen you so much," Derek answered hurriedly.

 

"I am honestly trying to keep the fires down to once a month," Stiles said.

 

"It's just been the detector as far as I know," Derek said and Stiles laughed a little.

 

"There has only been one real fire," Stiles said. "And I dealt with it. Well, the rug in front of my sink dealt with it and saved my life. It deserved better than being tossed into the dumpster out back. Maybe I should have put it in a boat, light it on fire again, and floated it out to sea. Do you think rugs get into Valhalla?"

 

"What?" Derek asked blinking like Stiles had startled him. Stupid freaking brain.

 

"Do you think rugs get into Valhalla?" he repeated suddenly feeling self-conscious and a little stupid. Derek opened and closed his mouth, as he tried to come up with an answer to what Stiles had said. Stiles was honestly thrilled when the waitress returned with their food and set it down in front of them. It was a perfect way to move away from that conversation. They chatted a little as they ate, but it was more awkward now. Stiles was now determined to say less stupid things, so he focused on asking Derek questions. The only problem with that was that Derek apparently answered personal questions like they were all yes or no questions. They definitely weren't. They finished their food in almost silence, and when the waitress came back to clear the table off, she asked.

 

"Anything else?"

 

"A chocolate milkshake," Derek said and glanced at Stiles. "Want one?" he asked, but Stiles just shook his head.

 

"No thanks, I'm good," Stiles answered. She was gone for a minute before she was back with the milkshake, with two cherries on top of it. She winked at Derek as she set it down, and Stiles wasn't sure what that even meant. Was she flirty? Was she assuming that they were a couple? No, there was only one straw, she was probably flirting. Stiles slumped in his seat a little but smiled when Derek raised his eyebrows at him.

 

"You sure you don't want one?" Derek asked. "They're really good."

 

"No, I'm really fine," Stiles said, waving his hand in front of him. Derek nodded a little, and then took the straw and scoped some of the whipped cream off the top of the milkshake and then sucked it off the end of the straw. Oh god, Stiles thought, watching the whipped cream disappear between Derek's lips. This was a terrible moment to pop a boner. Stiles snapped his attention out the window and watched cars drive passed them. It was late in the afternoon, approaching three o'clock and people were starting to head home from early morning shifts. Stiles wished he was back at the apartment, hidden in his own space away from everyone else.

 

"Thanks for coming with me," Derek said after a minute and Stiles turned to respond. The next few seconds happened in total slow motion for Stiles. He jumped at the sound of Derek's voice, swung his arm out as he twisted around, and knocked Derek's milkshake from the table into Derek's lap.

 

"Oh my god!" Stiles said, but Derek was just staring down at his lap like he wasn't totally sure what had just happened.  "Holy shit, I'm so sorry! I-I, here..." Stiles pulled a handful of napkins from the dispenser at the table and shoved them at Derek. The waitress was at their table a second later, with a washcloth, and hurriedly pointing Derek toward the bathroom.

 

"I'll be right back," Derek said. His voice had taken on a hard tone and he looked like he was somewhere between confused and furious. When Derek stood up, Stiles could see that the milkshake had totally missed Derek's crotch, but covered one of his thighs. At least he was just wearing jeans and not something nicer. Stiles sunk down in the bench and covered his face with his hands for a second. He was an idiot, he was a complete and total idiot, but--but he could fix it. Stiles scrambled to his feet, glancing back at the bathroom door, and then yanked out his wallet. He tossed $50 onto the table, and then--like the coward he was--darted out the front door and was gone. He grumbled a little at himself, as he started his walk back to the apartment. He was so stupid, what the hell was wrong with him? He had never been popular growing up, with men or women; he knew what people thought of him. He knew how he looked, and he knew it wasn't anything special. Why did he keep trying to get with these completely unobtainable gorgeous people? At least this time he just made a jackass of himself, instead of trying to build a life with the guy. Not that this had been a date, he didn't even know if Derek was into guys. He was just delusional and stupid, and completely annoying.

 

It took him almost 20 minutes to get home, dodging through people on the street and trying to remember where he was meant to turn. When he got back to the apartment, he wasn't surprised to see Derek's truck parked in the visitor and staff parking stalls, but he was irritated that it was there. No matter what door he went to, he'd have to pass the office to get to the elevators or the entrance to the stairs. So, after standing in front of the building for a few minutes, he turned and marched into the parking lot. His jeep was in the back corner, tucked away from most of the other cars, and he crawled into the back seat and locked himself inside. Yup, he was a coward, but the office was only open for a few more hours. So, chances were that Derek would be gone by six at the latest. He could make this work; his phone would last for a while. He could do this. He thought about calling Scott again but then decided that that was a bad idea too. Everything was a bad idea. That's all he had, fucking miserable bad ideas, like moving to New York, and dating assholes, and using his fucking grocery money to pay for a meal he hadn't even wanted.

 

In the end, Stiles didn't have to call anyone, because Scott called him. The phone vibrated in his hands, and Stiles only just managed not to drop it. "Hello," he said, probably sounded more pathetic than he really needed to.

 

"Um, did... did things go... badly?" Scott asked.

 

"I dumped a milkshake on him," Stiles answered.

 

"Like... because he was a jerk?"

 

"Because my arm decided to flail wildly across the table."

 

"Well... at least you didn't insult his family?"

 

"No, I did that too," Stiles answered.

 

"Oh my god," Erica said through the phone.

 

"Am I on speaker phone?" Stiles asked sharply.

 

"Everyone was curious," Scott said.

 

"Everyone? Why did everyone know?"

 

"I sent a text to the friend group, dude. Did you not look?" he asked. Stiles blinked a few times, pulled his phone from his head, and opened their Whatsapp chat group. There were almost 200 messages; the most recent ones were just his name over and over again in different combinations of capital and lower case letters.

 

"What the hell?" he snapped, and put the phone against his ear again. "Come on, Scott, do you have no compassion?"

 

"We're worried!" Erica said.

 

"Why are you even there? Shouldn't you be in LA with Boyd?" Stiles asked.

 

"We're on vacation," she answered.

 

"Can Boyd afford to take a vacation?" Stiles asked, squinting at a spot of dirt on the roof of the jeep.

 

"Vernon just got a promotion, if you read the group chat once in a while, you'd know that," Erica said. Stiles did know that, he had seen it, and congratulated him. "We've been planning this for a year, remember? You were going to come too?" Oh yeah, Stiles remembered that. That they had all made plans to meet back home for a week, he tried to ignore the disappointment at being the only one who hadn't been able to afford to go.

 

"Yeah, I remember," Stiles said softly.

 

"But, that does matter! What happened with this guy?"

 

"I told you," Stiles answered. "I insulted his family and knocked on milkshake all over him."

 

"What did he do?" Kira asked and Stiles groaned.

 

"Really? Is everyone there?" he asked and heard a crowd answer with yes. "Oh my god. He just got up and went to the bathroom and then I don't know."

 

"You don't know?"

 

"I... I kinda of just left," Stiles said.

 

"You what?" Lydia snapped.

 

"I paid for our food, and then bailed okay? I'm currently hiding in my Jeep because I'd have to walk past the office to get to my apartment. So, just take note of that, I'm so pathetic I'm hiding in my Jeep."

 

"Stiles," Scott said softly and that was actually the worst. That soft pitting tone he got when Stiles did a specific kind of stupid thing.

 

"Nope, I don't wanna hear it," Stiles snapped and rolled onto his side so he was facing the bench of the jeep.

 

"Come on..." Scott mumbled, and his voice was clearer now. Stiles guessed he had taken him off of speaker phone.

 

"I'll deal with it later," Stiles said.

 

"You say that about everything."

 

"Look, if I ignore it for a while, it's either going to ruin my life or go away. Both of those options are fine, really," Stiles mumbled. "How about you just pass the phone around the room and everyone can update me on their lives?" Stiles asked. Scott sighed heavily but in the end, he agreed, and even though Stiles wished he was there, it was almost enough.

 

He ended the call, almost three hours later when his phone beeped to let him know it was dying. "I'm going to be talking to you about this boy later," Lydia said sternly as he said goodbye.

 

"Okay, later," Stiles agreed. "Love you guys."

 

"Love you too, now go on," she said. Stiles ended the call and tucked his phone into his pocket. Maybe he should just move back home, he could probably borrow the money from his dad or one of his friends. Then, he could pay them back once he had settled back in and gotten a job at home.

 

"Ugh, what a dumbass I am," Stiles mumbled, as he pushed his way out of the jeep. It was a little passed 6:30 now, so he was fairly confident that the office would be closed for the night. So when he got inside, he was surprised to hear Peter and Derek's voices.

 

"Oh, like how you're all hot and bothered for--"

 

"Oh my god, Peter," Derek snapped. "This is really different."

 

"Obviously not. I'm honestly surprised we have the same tast--"

 

"Shut up! Peter, this is important! You can't keep traipsing around like you have been; you're going to get yourself in real trouble some day! I can't spend all my time trying to do damage control!"

 

"You don't have to be here, if I'm such a hardship, Derek. Your mother would be thrilled if you came home," Peter snapped.

 

"I'm here because I want to help you, Peter; I want to make sure that you're okay! I'm here because I care! I'm here because _you_ asked me to be," Derek answered. "I put my life on hold to help you. You could at least pretend to be grateful that I'm here. Instead of ignoring me like I've somehow slighted you!"

 

"I'm not--" Peter started.

 

"You are! You don't even trust me with a key to the office. You show up in the morning to unlock the door and then you're gone until it needs to be locked. When I agreed to come out and help you I didn't think that meant I'd be spending every day in the office of this--this shithole!" Derek snapped. Stiles stood very still for a minute, trying to figure out what to do before he saw the elevator doors open and he sprinted for it. An older man he didn't recognise left the elevator and Stiles nodded and darted past him. He slammed into the wall of the elevator wall and jammed his finger against the button for the eighth floor. The elevator doors slid closed just in time for Derek to walk out of the office and make eye contact with Stiles.

 

"Oh my god," Stiles said, feeling like that was his new mantra. The elevator arrived on his floor, jerking to a stop and letting him out. He trudged down the hallway and let himself into his apartment. He kicked off his shoes, feeling stupid and upset, making it a few steps before his foot landed on something. He stumbled back, looked down, and found a white envelope in the middle of his floor. "Please don't be an eviction notice; please don't be an eviction notice." He flipped the envelope over and in surprisingly neat handwriting it said. _'You'd have to shoot flaming arrows at the rug until it caught fire if you wanted it to be a proper Hollywood Viking burial. But, really you should have buried it in a metaphorical ship.'_ Stiles stared at the envelope like he couldn't understand what it was. He carefully opened it and pulled out the $50 he'd left on the table at the diner. On the inside of the flap of the envelope were the words _'I told you it was on me'._

 

Stiles tried to crush the sudden warm feeling of hope that spread through his chest, but he still stuck the envelope to his fridge.

 

***

 

Stiles still couldn't bring himself to go talk to Derek, but Derek didn't show up at his door either. It was two weeks later when a notice was slipped under his door like the envelope had been. It was informing the building that they were going to be going from suite to suite to assess any damage and find the best, least invasive way to repair the problems. The notice told him that they would be coming to check his floor next week. Stiles had hoped that they would come by when he wasn't home, but that wasn't how his luck worked, and four minutes after he'd walked in the door from work, there was a knock at his door. He froze, groaned and then answered it. Peter was standing there hands on his hips, and just the creepiest fucking smile on his face. "Good afternoon, Stiles," he said. "We're here to check your unit, and make sure everything is in working order."

 

"Don't you guys normally do this kind of thing when the people have moved out?" he asked.

 

"Normally, but my nephew has insisted that I need to fix up this, _shithole,_ " Peter said.

 

"It is a bit of a shithole," Stiles said and Peter nodded his head. "Anyone else coming with you? Or you coming into my place unaccompanied to poke around?"

 

"Is that an invitation?" Peter asked.

 

"Peter!" Derek shouted from down the hallway. Stiles watched, with amused fascination, as Peter leant back, rolled his eyes, and let his hands drop from his hips. It was a fantastically immature set of movements. Stiles didn't really have time to freak out about Derek, because the other man was there, lecturing Peter about professionalism and how to talk to tenants. "Sorry Stiles, we just need to look around quickly. The maintenance guys can come check your place out if you're more comfortable with that."

 

"Please, he's perfectly comfortable with us, aren't you Stiles?" Peter asked. Derek looked pained but Stiles just shrugged his shoulders and waved them inside.

 

"You two are fine," he said, stepping out of the way. "But, no judging," he added.

 

Stiles apartment had the same layout as every other one bedroom apartment in the building. There was a bathroom and bedroom to the left of the entrance, the living on the right, and the kitchen awkwardly placed straight ahead of the door. There wasn't a lot wrong with his suite, really, just a few cracks in the wall, and a window that refused to open. Peter made it a few steps into the living room, before glancing back at Stiles and raising an eyebrow at him. "Where did you even find this couch, the 50's?" he asked.

 

"One of my old coworkers was clearing out their parent's place," Stiles answered.

 

"Impeccable taste," Peter answered. Stiles living room was mostly empty, besides the couch, a single chair, an old trunk he used as a coffee table, and an empty TV stand. His bedroom was worse, with only his bed and a stack of plastic drawers he used as a dresser.

 

"Look, man, not everyone can afford to just buy furniture," Stiles said. Derek seemed to actually be working, instead of just looking at Stiles possessions, thank God. He was writing down where there were cracks and water damage, what needed to be painted, and then looking at the window Stiles said didn't open. He also refused to maintain eye contact, which Stiles thought was fair. Peter, on the other hand, refused to look away from him. His eyes lingering even when Stiles straight up caught him doing it. "Come on man, can't you just... stop perving for like, two minutes?" Stiles snapped and then winced. He was relieved when Peter laughed, instead of getting upset.

 

"I'm not sure, I've never tried," he said and Stiles just blew a raspberry at him.

 

"Peter, please, just go out into the hallway," Derek snapped.

 

"So you two can be alone?" he asked. Stiles felt his chest tighten instantly, oh god, Peter was exposing him. Peter knew Stiles had a horrible, inappropriate crush on his nephew, and Peter was gonna say something. Stiles felt his whole face burn with embarrassment and suddenly Derek looked furious. Great, now he realised it and was going to freak out. He was going to yell and Stiles and then kick him out of the apartment. Stiles was going to be homeless in New York and there was nothing he could do about it. He'd have to move home, he'd have to tell everyone what happened, oh god, he couldn't lie about this.

 

"Just go, Peter," Derek hissed, and after a dramatic eye roll, Peter left the suite. Derek watched him go, glaring at him the whole way. Then, when the door had clicked closed again, he very slowly turned back to Stiles. They were quiet for a long few minutes, Derek glancing at his notes, and then at one of the walls. Stiles glancing at Derek and then the ceiling. Then, at the same time, both using tones just on the far said of panicked they both said, "I'm sorry."

 

"What?" Derek said first.

 

"Why are you sorry?" Stiles asked.

 

"For... for making you uncomfortable," Derek said.

 

"Making me uncomfortable?"

 

"I pressured you into going out with me when you didn't really have an option," Derek answered slowly. Stiles watched the blush climb across Derek's face, and he wanted to chase it with his tongue. Oh god, not now.

 

"When did that happen?" Stiles asked and Derek frowned.

 

"When we went to the recycling depot... I was driving and my uncle owns your apartment, it's not like it would have been easy to insist on going home," Derek said. Stiles stared at him, trying to understand what any of the words he was saying meant. "I'm not good at this, I tend to get weird and do things stupidly."

 

"I didn't notice," Stiles said honestly, but Derek seemed to think he was teasing him. He rolled his eyes and shook his head.

 

"I just wanted to say I'm sorry. I know how Peter acted towards you and then I went and did something similar," Derek said, and his whole body seemed to droop. Stiles couldn't get his mind to process what was happening, it didn't matter how hard he focused on it, it refused to let him form a sentence. "I'm... happy to be a reference to another building if you want. Somewhere the staff doesn't keep harassing you."

 

"Harassing me?" Stiles said slowly.

 

"I had thought you might have some kind of feelings for me, so... I kept trying to ask you out, and then the recycling thing seemed like a good idea. But then you took off during lunch and I realise I was wrong. I'd clearly made you uncomfortable and, I'm really sorry about that," Derek explained.

 

"You... have feelings... for me?" Stiles asked.

 

"I thought that was obvious," Derek answered.

 

"How is that obvious?"

 

"I come to your apartment almost once a week, just to see how you're doing," Derek said, sounding uncomfortable with the confession.

 

"That's because I keep setting off the smoke detector and Mrs Robert's keeps telling on me!" Stiles said.

 

"I asked her too," Derek mumbled, looking at anything except for Stiles. And, holy shit, did Stiles think that was cute.

 

"You what?" Stiles asked.

 

"She mentioned it once, that you seemed to have an overly sensitive detector and that I should change it. I told her I'd keep an eye on it if she could just call and let me know when it happened," Derek said.

 

"You don't check everyone's?" Stiles asked.

 

"No, there just smoke detectors, if the building's alarm doesn't go off there's no need to worry about it." Stiles gaped at Derek, which was apparently the wrong thing to do because Derek just apologised again and then was turning and heading for the door. Derek's hand closed around the door handle, and Stiles' brain was suddenly screaming at him to say anything. Just do something, goddammit.

 

"You can sexually harass me!" Stiles shouted and then slapped his hands over his mouth. Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit! Stiles needed a new brain and a new mouth. One that didn't want him dead would be nice; a brain that was kind and loving and a mouth that stayed shut. Those would be amazing, perfect, just fucking fantastic. Derek had frozen on the spot, not moving for a long few seconds, before he glanced back at Stiles. "Oh my god," Stiles said out loud. "Oh my god, Derek. No, wait. Just--just let me get this sentence in the right order and... and holy shit." He ran his hands up over his face and through his hair, tugging at it like it would turn on the sensible section of his brain. It didn't, but Derek turned back around and waited.

 

"Take your time," he said softly and goddammit he was great. Derek looked so hopeful then, hands tightening around the edges of the notebook he had.  

 

"I--I'm... I like your face okay?" Stiles finally said. "I like your face, and your teeth, and the way your shirts are always too tight. I like how you laugh, and how you talk back to Peter. I like the way your eyebrows talk 93% better than you actually talk. Oh god, I've had a physical crush on you since the first time I saw you. But--but then you started showing up at my apartment sometimes, and we talked in passing, and you're so smart and funny and--and you corrected me on Viking funerary customs, holy shit, Derek. I just, I want to lick your face. No, shit, ignore that. I just... your brain gives me a heart on Derek."

 

"My brain... gives you a--?"

 

"A heart-on, Derek. Like a boner for your heart," Stiles explained, "because I'm clearly a child who cannot deal with emotions." Which was totally true. And then Derek was laughing at him. His eyes crinkling around the edges, and his mouth split his face in an absolutely gorgeous smile. It made Stiles' heart decided now was the time, to start tap dancing along his ribs. God, it was a good feeling.

 

"Would you, like to go out with me again?" Derek asked, still smiling like he was the fucking sun. "Give it another try?"

 

"I might knock more beverages on you," Stiles said.

 

"I can live with that," Derek answered.

 

"I'm no good at fancy restaurants, and I eat like a broke college student. I literally bring nothing to the table, Derek," Stiles said because Derek really should know what he's trying to get into here.

 

"I'm pretty socially inept," Derek answered with a shrug. "I probably won't notice." Stiles snorted out a laugh, and it made Derek smile just a little bit more.

 

"My bed is a single," Stiles said.

 

"That's fine, mine's a king."

 

"Oh my god, I'd really like to give it another try," Stiles said, closing the distance between them. He reached out for Derek, hoping this was okay and was beyond excited when Derek let Stiles get into his space. For a moment, they were so close together they were just sharing air, but then Derek moved and they were kissing. It sent sparks through his body, making the tap dancing in his chest become the can-can. Stiles heard Derek's notebook hit the ground, as his arms came up and wrapped around Stiles' waist. Stiles snaked one hand up into Derek's hair, and held him in a place like this was his dying wish. And, holy shit, Stiles thought it was. Derek was soft and sure of his movements, it made Stiles' knees buckle, and the only things holding him up were Derek's arms. Stiles thought they could have stayed like that forever, but then someone was pounding on the door.

 

"I'm sure you haven't started anything inappropriate in there," Peter called through the door. "But, if you remember dear nephew, we do have two more floors to do this afternoon."

 

"Oh god," Stiles mumbled against Derek's lips. "I forgot you come with Peter. I've changed my mind." Derek laughed softly and nipped at Stiles bottom lip. "Never mind, I'm a liar... we can kill and bury Peter later. That will solve that problem."

 

"You have to dig the hole for the body," Derek said.

 

"What? You're clearly the stronger of the two here," Stiles said, but Derek just grinned and kissed him again.

 

"We'll figure it out when we get there," Derek answered, and yeah, that sounded good.

**Author's Note:**

> Random information:  
> *Stiles and Derek end up totally happy together and Stiles gets therapy to help with his self-esteem issues. Derek works on his communication skills. It turns out great for them.  
> * Stiles is using savings he put away to pay his rent, I had planned on writing about it a little and ended up forgetting. His current job mostly just pays the other bills.  
> * Stiles apartment is a combination of my current place and my last place.  
> * I did do some reading on electronic recycling in NYC, but I'm not totally sure if you can just go drop stuff off like you can where I live. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ So, I just went with how it works in Canada.  
> * Stiles job pains are a little like one of my friend's job pains and my opinion of it mixed together. She's trying so hard, but seems to spend a lot of time doing free work for companies. It's freaking rude.  
> * My parents moved a couple years ago, and when they went I had to sneak a box full of really outdated computer parts out of their place to recycle. Zip discs, a lot of floppy discs, and literally hundreds of cables to connect floppy drives to the computer. No drives or anything, just hundreds of cables.
> 
>  
> 
> Come say hi to me on [tumblr](http://ihaveasoftspotforsatan.tumblr.com/), if you'd like! I'd love requests if you have any!


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